


Walking On The Rooftops

by geckoholic



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: F/F, Figuring Out One's Sexual Orientation, Queer Character, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4981165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roxy isn't into boys. Figuring that out takes some time. Coming to terms with it? Not so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking On The Rooftops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreshBrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/gifts).



> You didn't really give prompts, so I went freeform based on your likes. ;)
> 
> Beta-read by shenshen77 and miss_whoops. Thank you both!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Long Way Down" by Tom Odell.

There was no big revelation, no light bulb moment, not one single instance in which it all becomes clear. A friend once told her she's always known this about herself, deep down. That's not true for Roxy either. Sometimes she thinks it may have been easier that way. 

 

***

 

The environment Roxy grew up in didn't account for the way she considered girls to be prettier than boys, wanted to be close to the former rather than the latter. Her family was educated and progressive to a point, sure, allowing for things to be _different_ out there in the world but frowning on it within their own ranks. She didn't know exactly what she felt; she did know it would be a terrible idea to share it with anyone. 

As a teenager, when her friends giggled about boys, she joined in and quietly imagined what it would be like to touch soft curves, unsure and confused and feeling vaguely dirty, bad, wrong. At fourteen she kissed the son of a family friend at her father's Christmas party, expecting that to set things right. He shoved his hand underneath her blouse and got pushy, and that's what she blamed for finding the experience unpleasant as a whole. 

Nevertheless, her mother had smiled upon noticing how the two of them snuck back into the ballroom. In hindsight, Roxy remembers it as an expression of relief, suspicions rebutted, a world view put back into balance. 

 

***

 

Of course, at that point, Roxy was familiar with the concept of homosexuality, women loving women, men loving men. She just didn't think of applying it to herself. 

The girls in her clique started having boyfriends, and people started pitying Roxy's lack thereof. It didn't bother her much, and her mother hurried to assure her that there was nothing to worry about; she was just a late bloomer, it would happen eventually. She would fall in love with a nice, appropriate boy, and everything would be fine. Normal. Like everyone else. 

 

***

 

In her first year of college, Roxy met Shannon. They were roommates and best friends. They went everywhere together, hardly spent a minute alone. They sat a hand width's apart when they studied in the evening, smiling at each other whenever their eyes met, and for the first time, Roxy felt _right_. 

The realization that she was in love didn't hit her so much as it trickled into her thoughts gradually. She'd never understood what her friends had been talking about when it came to their boyfriends, but she did pay attention to what they had said, and eventually put together that she felt all of these things for Shannon. Nothing came out of it; Shannon switched universities during second year and last Roxy heard – Facebook updates or something like that – she'd gotten married to a banker and had a few kids. 

But from there on in, Roxy _knew_ , and that changed everything. 

 

***

 

After that, she waited. She'd gotten used to the idea that love would happen at some point, and she wasn't in any hurry. For a while, that was enough; she knew what she wanted and who she wanted it with, generally speaking. Waiting for a man, waiting for a woman – it didn't make a difference. 

Roxy went to clubs, flirted and occasionally let herself be touched, more rarely kissed. It was a celebration rather than anything else, although she supposed a little rebellion might have been in the mix. Roxanne Morton, in a _lesbian dance club_ : oh dear, what a scandal. But in the end, she figured she didn't do anything her friends or her parents friend's kids weren't also doing; she just did it with other women. And for that fact, she'd decided, she wouldn't feel guilty. Embarrassment sometimes weaseled its way in at 2 o'clock in the morning, her shoes lacking a heel and her dress dirty, a redhead in her arms she had no intention memorizing the name of, but it was because of the state of her – drunk and sweaty and in disarray – rather than the gender of her company. It never lasted, though. After all, wasn't college where you're supposed to fall a little bit out of line? 

 

*** 

 

Love _did_ happen eventually, and as is often the case, it had terrible timing. Her father had gotten Roxy an internship at a law firm in London, huge and respected and the best possible place to start a career. She was one of four interns that summer, two boys and two girls to be politically correct. 

Morgan was kind and open and helpful; she had shoulder length hair put up in a bun and wore subtle make-up, but her skirts always came in just a few centimeters shy of what'd be considered proper and her smile was mischievous – well, at least it was when she directed it at Roxy. 

By mid-summer they hid away in the utility closet to make out when everyone else left for lunch, Morgan's fingers up her cunt making Roxy see stars, taking care of a different kind of hunger. They stole kisses in the copy room, left separately but met up merely half an hour later to spend the nights together. 

It was a rush, and it was amazing, and it all ended when Roxy got the call from her father, telling her that an entirely different kind of job opportunity had presented itself. 

 

*** 

 

Being a Kingsman was everything Roxy expected it to be: exciting and challenging and all-consuming. Neither of them had a private life to speak of – there's a reason why most of them never got married, and if they did, it was usually short-lived. Roxy didn't regret that; it played into her hand rather nicely. She would never have to explain to anyone why she didn't have a husband. She didn't have to disappoint her parents. She wouldn't have to decide between hiding who she was and being ostracized. 

The lack of a steady relationship, however, did not mean she lived in celibacy. Between missions, Eggsy would run off with a girl, now and then. Every so often, Roxy would do the same. 

They'd been partnered for hardly six months when Eggsy dashed into her flat one Sunday afternoon, shouting excitedly about the mission they were about to be sent on, and opened the door to find Roxy curled into Karen, the woman she'd picked up two days prior and spent all weekend with. 

Roxy smiled at him, daring him to say something, freak out, be appalled. She should have known neither would be the case; he shot her a lewd grin and gave her a thumbs up, then closed the door and waited patiently outside until both Karen and Roxy had gotten dressed and said their goodbyes. He tries to set her up on the regular, since then, and once jokingly asked about a threesome, but in the grand scheme of things, Roxy considers that a minor inconvenience. 

 

***

 

Every so often, Roxy will meet with one of her friends from college – not those she met on campus, but those she spent the night with dancing and drinking and who stuck around after sunrise – and she sees them with their girlfriends, whisper sweet nothings into each other's ears whenever one of them so much as gets up to order refills, hold hands casually while they chatter and laugh. 

There's a life there that she doesn't get to live, on display right in front of her, but Roxy doesn't feel that as a loss; she's happy. She is who she is, and she doesn't have to make excuses – not for any of it. 

Then again, she's rather certain by now, she never really would have.


End file.
